


Anam Cara

by HouseofTheBear



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fantasy, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseofTheBear/pseuds/HouseofTheBear
Summary: After a difficult year, Daenerys makes a wish for Christmas. Little does she know just how different and exciting this wish will make her life.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 15
Kudos: 49
Collections: A song of frosted bear kisses and dragon roasted chestnuts





	Anam Cara

**Author's Note:**

> Anam Cara is a Celtic phrase meaning "soul friend". While it is most associated with spirituality, my take on its meaning is similar to a soulmate, the one person who is ideally suited to you. Your one true love.
> 
> I have this story outlined, but with all of the other projects I'm working on at the moment, I'm not sure when the next update will be. Many apologies, but I promise this story will not be abandoned.
> 
> Big thanks to the amazing @chryssadirewolf on Tumblr for the gorgeous moodboard she created :heart eyes:
> 
> Chapter warnings: mild violence, one swear word, major feels

“You want an adventure for Christmas,” Missandei remarked skeptically. “Hasn’t this year been crazy enough?”

Daenerys let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s not exactly what I mean.” She thought for a moment, then continued, “I just want something different, exciting…but in a good way. Something _better_ , you know.”

“Well, yeah, you deserve it. After everything with your father and brother…” she trailed off, not wanting to reopen old wounds.

Daenerys knew and appreciated what her friend was doing. But sometimes she couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone around her was walking on eggshells, dodging certain topics to avoid bringing up the past several months. She wouldn’t let those memories win, however, instead focusing on all the fun they had that evening. Their traditional Christmas Eve party had ended a while ago, but Missandei and Daenerys had stayed after, chatting as they usually did. The closest of all her friends, they had known each other since secondary school. Now, it was well after midnight and the temperature had turned quite chilly, a likely portent of some wintery weather to come.

“Hop in,” Missandei said, when they arrived at her car, “I’ll give you a ride. It’s on my way.”

“That’s okay, I’ll catch the train.”

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”

She always hated it when her friends said that. She knew she had to be a nuisance, what with no car at the moment. She had sold it to… _well, that doesn’t matter now_ , she thought.

“Yeah,” she answered, drawing her well-worn leather jacket tighter around herself, “the station’s not far.”

Missandei hesitated, then shrugged. She knew Daenerys was stubborn. “Okay, see you Saturday. Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas!”

The ladies shared a hug and went their separate ways.

The streets were nearly deserted, this particular area a converted former industrial sector. The old warehouses were transformed into multi-level night clubs, pop-up restaurants, and funky second-hand clothing shops. In groups, it was a fairly safe place to be after dark. Alone…not so much. Daenerys knew it was a mistake to be in this end of town late at night. She'd been so engrossed in conversation with her friend that she'd missed the last train, only realizing it once she had arrived at the station. Her phone had died too, and given this day and age, there weren't payphones anymore. She wished she had taken Missandei up on her offer of a ride, but she had wanted to seem independent and capable. Now she just wanted to survive.

The alley was dimly lit and stunk of rotting trash and human excrement, her footfalls echoing off the grimy brick. She pumped her arms faster, harder, drawing breath like a sprinter. Her lungs felt raw, each inhale like claws against her ribcage, but she pushed past it. Ahead, the alley bent right and she followed the curve, a chorus of hoots and cackling laughter gaining on her. “Stupid bitch, it's a dead-end!” And sure enough, it was, her heart freefalling into the pit of her churning stomach. _Oh Gods, help me._

She launched herself at the chain-link fence, scrabbling against the metal, the holes too small for her to get any real grip. A hand latched onto her waistband, yanking her to the ground, the sudden, jarring force rattling her bones. Gravel bit at her palms, tore into the knees of her jeans, cutting her, but all of her narrowed focus was on the two men standing over her. She kicked and screamed, sometimes connecting with something solid, other times nothing. It only succeeded in angering them more. When she tried to get up, one of them hit her so hard across the mouth she tasted blood and saw stars, twinkling light that shot haphazard paths across her tunneling vision. The alley wavered like a mirage, the edges turning black. _Don’t pass out,_ she willed herself.

“Help,” she yelled, hoping _someone_ would hear her.

A bolt of lightning, a crack of thunder, and a rush of wind. She held up her hand to shield against the fading brightness, the attackers seemingly distracted by the arrival of something. Whatever it was landed with a reverberating thud, its considerable breadth blocking out all of the light behind it. One of the assailants lunged forward, knife drawn, but was violently shoved aside, slamming against the wall with a sickening crack and crumpling into a heap like a ragdoll on the concrete. The next man drew a gun and fired one round, then five more in rapid succession, the air now filled with the acrid scent of sulfur. The being reached back and brought forth a gleaming sword, nearly as long as she was tall. That was all it needed to do, the attacker scurrying off into the night. Daenerys lay there looking up, trying to figure out what this being was, but it was now shrouded in shadow. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't cooperate and she collapsed. It sheathed its sword back between its wings... _Wait, what?_ Wings...tawny wings, like the Common Kestrel she had seen at the zoo. Only on a much more massive scale. Her eyes had begun to adjust to the low light, then they widened. A man. A man with wings.

Tall and broad, but leanly muscled, he stood before her, but she strangely didn’t feel any fear at his height or the fact that he was carrying a huge sword on his back. She felt safe and suddenly very calm, her heart rate slowing, her breathing almost back to normal. But then it was taken away when he took a step, the light finally illuminating his face. He was beautiful, the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck were soft, golden curls, like the highlights in his coppery feathers. His beard was the same shade, framing a pair of perfectly shaped lips. Chiseled jaw and cheekbones so sharp she worried that if she touched them, they'd cut her. A face sculpted by the Masters of Olde. But it was his eyes, fathomless blue, a hue so clear and still she had never seen the like of it in all her years. She found herself wanting to drown in them, get lost in the unending kindness she saw there. It was an odd thought to have at a time like that. Her life had been in mortal peril not a few moments ago, now she was ogling this fantastical being like a human male she would stare at across a crowded cafe.

“Are you all right?”

His deep voice cut through her musings. It was rich, sumptuous, resonant, striking some chord deep in her soul. And she had heard it before. But where? Wracking her brain, she tried hard to remember, but it was like a stone wall she couldn't breach, a chasm she couldn't cross. So close, and yet, just out of reach.

He held out his hand to her and she took it, as if she wasn't in control of her own body. It was drawn to him and she couldn't, _didn't_ , want to fight it. Even standing, she still had to crane her neck to look up at him, the top of her head barely reaching the notch of his throat.

“You're hurt.” His words sounding almost pained, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Oh,” she muttered, coming back to herself, only then feeling the ache in her knees, the soreness of her palms.

“Let me take you somewhere safe.”

She looked around, wondering how he was going to do that. His wings fluttered, reminding her that he had his own mode of transportation. _Oh, right._ “You're gonna fly me out of here.”

Daenerys could have sworn she saw a smile twitch at his lips. The way he stood, tall and proud, invited her to wrap her arms around his neck. So, she did, his own enfolding her in gentle strength.

“Hold on.”

It was the only warning she got before he took to the sky with a sudden whoosh, her yelp of surprise lodged in her throat. They were high above the buildings before she knew it, the wind whipping her hair around her, her ears filled with the rush. Through slitted eyelids, she watched everything below them grow smaller, the twinkling lights like multicolored fireflies in the colors of the season shrinking until they were nothing more than flickering dots.

 _<_ I won’t drop you. _>_

She wanted to look up at him, but she couldn't, not now that her face was buried in his neck. He smelled like winter, cool and fresh. The way a coming storm scented the air with its moisture.

<How did he know what I was thinking? Is he a mind reader too?>

<Yes>, that same wonderous voice whispering in her skull.

A chilly mist enveloped her, prickling her skin and clinging to the fine hairs on her face like morning dew. That was when she realized they were amongst the low hanging fog, hazy, yet not as dense as she had imagined. She also noticed it was nearly silent here too, just the occasional susurrus of a breeze. His wings made no noise either, like an owl's, their ascent finally leveling off.

Her purse hung from her shoulder, swaying gently as they rode the thermals, his wings only occasionally beating to keep them aloft. He seemed to know where he was going, the way she knew some avian species had a link to the magnetic lines that banded the globe, guiding them on their migrations. Or he had read her mind again. Either way, she was glad to be far away from the bustling city, far away from everything. She wondered if he flew for fun, did barrel rolls and deep dives, swooping up in tight arcs, only to free fall, catching himself at the last possible second.

<Sometimes.>

She pictured him then, like the majestic creature he was, free from the constraints that humans had. She envied him a little. She had always wished she could fly, her mother fashioning her dragon wings from black silk, which she would hold out at her sides and run about the small back garden of her childhood home, looping the lemon tree, jumping off short ledges, weightless for that brief blip in time.

Daenerys was drawn from her remembrances as she felt him begin their descent, passing through the fog and back into the cacophony of the city. The top of her building drew closer, the familiar four-story red-brick complex. It was the oldest in the neighborhood, complete with working fire escapes, and she loved its classic charm. He alighted on the rooftop, far more gently than she had expected, the gravel crunching under the soles of his boots. She hadn't even noticed his clothing until now, too distracted earlier by everything else. Black jeans hugged his athletic thighs, his shirt, reminiscent of one a pirate would wear was untucked, the ties meant to secure the collar left undone. It was golden in color, soft, like sunlight just before sunset. He hadn't let go of her yet, seemingly understanding that she needed a moment for her legs to stop wobbling. He gazed down at her, his expression so gentle, so _kind_ , it held her transfixed.

She blinked rapidly, tearing her eyes away to look around for a place to sit. The roof was bare, save for a few termite eaten 2x4s.

Using his arms for support, she lowered herself to the ground, her legs rejoicing at not having to support her weight anymore. She felt exhausted all of a sudden, her limbs like lead weight. He joined her, his wings folding up slightly behind him. His eyes fell to her lip, swollen and split, his brows drawing together with concern. She knew it must look a sight, not to mention, it hurt terribly. He rested his hands palm up in his lap, an invitation for her to take them. She did, their large warmth engulfing hers, his eyelids slowly closing. The tingling took her breath away, it traveled gradually up her arms, suffusing her chest and belly, then down into her legs. And where she was injured, it lingered, a faint, pulsing glow emanating from the wounds. She watched in shock as her cut appeared on his lip, his brows tensing again, but this time as if he was in pain. And it healed right before her eyes, the skin knitting together, a scar appearing and disappearing all in the span of mere seconds what her body would take a week or more to do. When the tingling retreated the way it came, she felt some of her fatigue and fear leave her too. When their gazes met again, she was blinking at him, utterly dumbfounded.

“You-you just-” she shook her head hard, took a centering breath, then tried again. “You just healed me!”

“Yes”, he said matter-of-factly.

_How did he do that? What is he?_

He couldn't tell her, at least not in a way she would understand. Not yet. Humans referred to his kind as 'angels' because it was something they had seen in paintings and read about in holy books, a convenient explanation for a mystical unknown. He didn’t mind the term, angels were beings of good that watched over humanity, their guardians. But that's not entirely what he was. He didn’t serve a higher power, he did what he did out of a sense of service, a desire to protect. So, in a way, perhaps it made him an angel after all. _That's a conversation for another time._

A cold drop landed on her cheek, another on her forehead, then two more. She looked skyward; the fog had given way to storm clouds. She heard a flutter, then like a feathered curtain, she was enclosed by his wings, shielding her from the rain. It was surprisingly warm in the cocoon he created, his feathers keeping most of the chill and nearly all of the water out. The light was too dim for her to make out any real details about them, though she really wanted to study them up close, to run her fingers over the seemingly silky plumage. They were extremely fascinating.

“There are so many things I wanna ask, that I wanna know.” she laughed softly, averting her eyes in shyness, “but you already know what's in my mind, don’t you?”

Jorah did. She wanted to know where he came from, how he knew she needed him, had he been protecting her since birth, and seemingly hundreds more that rushed through her brain like freeway traffic. He couldn't answer all her questions, some required knowledge that was forbidden from being shared. But there were other thoughts in her mind, fleeting glimpses really, that caught him off guard. She wanted to see him again. And buried deep down, she wanted to kiss him. That thought was tied to several emotions swirling in her: curiosity, desire, trepidation. Jorah was shocked, to say the least. He had witnessed humans engaging in that act, wondering why they did it and how it felt. He had reasoned out the 'why' in short order, but the 'how' he had always assumed would elude him. Perhaps it wouldn't anymore.

But not that night.

Her ordeal had left her emotionally vulnerable and likely traumatized beneath the inquisitiveness and wonder she felt being with him. He could sense it, she tried to bury it, to not deal with it. He understood, but he couldn't let her. Holding something like that deep inside was never good.

<It's not the right time.>

She knew immediately what he was referencing, a blush reddening her cheeks. But he was right. Underneath all of the amazement, she felt anxious and jittery. She started to remember how she had arrived here with him and why she was snuggled beneath his wings, their enormity sheltering her from the passing shower. He sensed the shift in her demeanor, the way she turned in to him, not out of some physical desire, but in search of comfort. He wrapped her in his arms and gathered her close, her fingers grasping the fabric of his shirt, her face tucking into the space between his neck and shoulder. A warm drop trickled over his collarbone, then another, mingling with the cooler wetness of the rain.

“You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you.”

Her shoulders jerked at his earnest promise, her body curling more into his lap. He wasn't sure how long he held her, but when she finally sniffled and pulled back enough to look up at him, the rain had stopped. Her fingers unfurled from their grip, her hand moving up to rest on the back of his neck, the damp curls teasing her fingers. He felt himself being drawn to her, and at first, he resisted. But she met his eyes and slowly brought her forehead to his. His wings slumped, his whole body relaxing, melting into her. She didn't know it, _she couldn't_ , but that was a kiss amongst his kind. The forehead was seen as a sacred place, behind which knowledge and personality resided, but also emotion. A sigh left his parted lips and he leaned closer, slightly nuzzling her brow. The warmth of her long, slow exhalations heated his skin, a connection so deep and so strong forming between them, fibers of trust and understanding weaving a bond that would take monumental strength to sever. Time seemed to lengthen and stretch, their eyes meeting and disappearing behind leisurely blinked thick lashes. She drew back first and he found himself leaning toward her retreating face, unwilling to break the connection just yet. He noted the disappointment in her softened gaze, she wanted to stay that way with him longer too.

A shiver wracked her form and he realized that even his wings couldn't protect her from the dropping temperatures. He didn't feel the cold, his body self-regulating. She, however, had only an old leather jacket and her damp clothes were starting to dry. He stood, easing her to her feet, but not letting go just yet. The peach-pink light of dawn was just a thin line on the horizon, his signal that it was time to go. He stepped back reluctantly, his hands slipping from hers, their fingertips the last to part.

“Do you have to go?” He nodded solemnly, his eyes drifting to the horizon, then back to hers. “Will I see you again?”

A different wetness gathered beneath her violet irises before spilling over and down her cheeks. He brushed it away with his thumb. Of course he would, he knew he couldn't go without her now. “Yes.”

A watery smile graced her features, but then it fell. “But how do I bring you to me?”

He crouched and picked up a small, downy feather that had somehow fallen free of his plumage and set it in her palm. It looked far larger resting there and he closed her digits around it. “Hold this, close your eyes and ask for me. I can only come at night.”

She nodded her understanding and their gazes met and held once more before he turned and walked to the brick ledge.

“Wait, I don't know your name.”

He looked back at her, “Jorah.”

“Jorah,” she repeated with a soft smile.

With a nod, he took to the sky and she ran to the edge to follow his soaring form until it was a speck against the sky and then nothing. She opened her fist, his russet feather so soft against her palm, the tip of her thumb skimming the vane. Daenerys closed her hand around it and brought it to her chest, holding it there, keeping a part of him close until she could have the real thing beside her once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it made sense that the text between the < > was Jorah and Daenerys' inner thoughts/unspoken conversation :)


End file.
